Bucky x Reader Oneshots
by spocksandsandals
Summary: A collection of Bucky Barnes x Reader oneshots. All work is mine unless otherwise stated.


You sat in Starbucks, staring at your laptop, staring at the empty Word Document. You usually came here to write in the morning, but you usually ended up people-watching instead. You watched young couples come in for their morning coffee date, watched kids ask their parents for sweets, watched hot guys with what looked like–you swore to God, that guy had a metal arm.

So when you meant people-watching, you generally meant thatguywiththemetalarmwhocomesinandordersagrandeblonderoastcoffeeat7ameverymorning-watching. Which you considered to be the same thing.

He came in the same exact time, every single day, whether in sweatpants and a t-shirt with mussed up hair, or an expensive-looking suit.

The baristas knew him, you knew that much. You'd learned his name, too. Bucky, it seemed. _Strange name_, you thought. _Maybe it's a nickname_, you thought. _Snap out of it, Y/N__,_ you thought. _You came here to write, not to daydream about some guy who doesn't know you exist_, you thought. _Okay__,_ you thought.

Your fingers brushed the keyboard for a second, and you sighed, looking at the clock in the corner. 6:58. You smoothed over your hair. _What's the point? He's not going to notice you,_ you thought. _Snap out of it, Y/N,_ you thought.

7:00. The door chimed, and he walked in, donning his usual walk laced with swagger, today in a hoodie and jeans, looking slightly out of breath. Slightly.

"Morning, Bucky," said one of the female baristas. You felt your cheeks run red. _Snap out of it! _you thought.

"Good morning, Anna," he said, smiling at her.

"The usual?" she asked, blushing slightly. Your chest burned with jealousy. _Oh God, what's wrong with me? _you thought.

"Yep," he replied, pulling a gold card out of his pocket and handing it to her. Their fingers brushed. You fixed your eyes back on your computer screen. Your fingers tapped the keys quickly, and you glanced up toward where he was waiting for his coffee.

_I am waiting for_

_Bucky at 7:00 am_

_To walk in and buy_

_His grande blonde roast_

_So I can stare at him whilst_

_I pretend to work_

_And only hope that he comes_

_In every morning_

_To see me, just as I come_

_In every morning_

_To see him_

You usually didn't do poetry. You had no idea where that came from.

Your mind quickly began to wander again, thinking of a second verse. Suddenly, your mind was pulled out of its trance when the chair across from you was pulled out, and the subject of said second verse sat down in it.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," you said.

"You come here every morning, and you sit here, by your laptop, and write?" he asked you suddenly. A millions thoughts raced through your head, the most prominent being _Snap out of it, Y/N._

"I try to," you replied.

"What do you mean?" he asked, tilting his head ever so slightly, like a puppy would. _You just wanted to kiss him. __Snap out of it! _you thought.

"Writer's block," you said, shaking your head slightly. "Inspiration is hard to come by, these days," you then said, mimicking the accent of a cowboy in an old movie, set in the 1800s. He laughed, and you smirked.

"So, what's your name?" he asks. Then, before you can reply, he says, "You may already know mine, from listening to the baristas. I'm James, but you can call me Bucky."

_He's introducing himself_, you thought. _He wants to be my friend_, you thought. _Or maybe more_, you thought. _Snap out of it_, you thought.

"Y/N. Nice to officially meet you, Bucky," you said, positive you were blushing like mad.

"Nice to officially meet you, Y/N," he replied in a flirty tone. _At least, it sounded like a flirty tone_. _Snap out of it_, you thought. "So, I was wondering if you wanted to grab dinner with me tonight?"

You raised your eyebrows. _Or don't_, you thought. "Yeah, that'd be…that'd be great," you said, the red in your cheeks surely showing now if it wasn't already. You were trying to hold back that you were smiling like an idiot.

But you didn't need to, really. Because he was smiling like an idiot too.

"So, I'll meet you…here at 7?"

"At 7," you repeated.

Nearly twelve hours later, you returned to where you'd previously been, typing the second verse of the poem into your phone.

_I am waiting for_

_Bucky at 7:00 pm_

_To walk in and take_

_Me out to dinner_

_So I can stare at him whilst_

_He tells me stories_

_And only hope that we go_

_On many more dates_

_And that he'd want to_

_Continue to see me_

_As I'd want to continue_

_To see him_

_At 7_

_Every day_


End file.
